


Hearts Like Coal

by smarshtastic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Feelings, Holidays, M/M, McReyes Week, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8786950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: Jesse doesn’t think he’s a good person. He’s known that for a long time. Deadlock beat it into him, and there’s plenty of evidence on his record to support it. He’s spent years running away from his past. Gabe - Commander Reyes - gave him a chance to do some things, good things, to cover that all up, but then there’s the Blackwatch missions that nobody talks about, where Jesse’s particular skill set comes in handy and maybe those things aren’t all that good after all. They know he’s not good. They use it to their advantage. Jesse lets them do it. What else can he do? It’s a poor penance after so many years of wrong doings. ---This is all fabrega's fault.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabrega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/gifts).



> You can find me on [tumblr](http://wictorwictor.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/smarshtastic).

It’s meant to be a joke.

The Blackwatch holiday party is always a raucous affair, and it usually bleeds into the bigger Overwatch party by the end of the night. But the Blackwatch gang always does its own gift exchange before the parties really get going. They put limits on it: nothing dangerous, nothing over $25, and nothing that would cause Captain Amari to threaten bodily harm. Still, they manage to get creative. Blackwatch is a group of devious, conniving people with a penchant for one-up-manship. They always toe the line, maybe even put a cheeky toe over it, but they are a team. It’s all in good fun.

So why does it hurt?

They are already three drinks in by the time Jesse gets to open his gift. The whole squad is sprawled over the lounge furniture, drinks in hand, at ease. Edwards hands a surprisingly well-wrapped box to Jesse with a wink. The box is heavy for its size. Jesse shakes it playfully, holding it close to his ear.

“Don’t shake it!”

“Well, I ain’t just gonna tear into it,” Jesse says. He pulls the paper off the box and opens it up to find a hard black rock the size of his fist. All of a sudden, his throat tightens up and it’s all he can do to keep the smile on his face. It’s like a vice clamped down on his windpipe. He swallows hard and let out a weak _hah_.

It’s drowned out by the laughter of his teammates.

“You know what you did, McCree!” Edwards goads him. He nudges Jesse with his shoulder, drink sloshing dangerously. Jesse plasters a grin on his face even though he can feel a distinct prickling behind his eyelids.

“Yeah, you got me, Edwards,” Jesse manages to croak out. Nobody notices - they’re already onto the next gift. Jesse downs the rest of his drink and doesn’t dare to make eye contact with anyone. The lump of coal sits heavy in his lap.

The party goes on around him and Jesse lets himself be swept up in the revelries, which inevitably take them to the big Overwatch party in the hangar. Music blares, drinks flow, the cheerful chatter rises up and echoes in the enormous space. But Jesse can’t get his mind off the lump of coal in his pocket.

Did he do wrong this year? He racks his brain, going over every mission, every choice he made, to figure out if Edwards was not-so-subtly hinting at a transgression of Jesse’s that escaped his notice.

Maybe he’s a rotten person. Jesse tries so hard to be good. Maybe everyone is finally seeing through him. He imagines the disappointment in Gabe’s - _Commander Reyes’_ \- face. Blackwatch takes all kinds and but after so many years with Deadlock… Maybe he isn’t really good after all - maybe Deadlock managed to corrupt him. He never should have joined Blackwatch. He should have let them lock him up and throw away the key. That’s where he belongs - that’s where people like him belong. He knows what he’s done; he has the nightmares that keep him up all night to remind him. The rest of them are just starting to see it now. He’s a fraud, he’s been found out, maybe there’s still time to get out before anyone else realizes what Edwards has…

“Jesse?”

Jesse blinks, coming out of his head. It takes him a moment to register Fareeha standing in front of him, decked out in an awful holiday sweater. He forces a smile back on his face.

“That sweater’s hideous,” he says. Fareeha scrunches up her face.

“Uncle Reinhardt knitted it for me,” she says. Jesse feels his stomach turn over; another black mark on his record. He clears his throat.

“Oh. Well.”

“It think he said it was supposed to be reindeer but they kinda look more like rabbits, huh?” Fareeha says with a shrug.

“Ha, yeah.” Jesse brings his glass to his mouth, but whatever he’d been drinking is already gone. He rolls the ice around instead. Fareeha holds something up to him.

“We made cookies,” she says by way of explanation. “And decorated them. Look, it’s you. Couldn’t put a poncho on it, though.”

Jesse finally realizes what he’s looking at: a gingerbread man, a gingerbread _cowboy_ , complete with hat and little frosting spurs. Or, at least he assumes that’s what the dabs of frosting on the heels of the gingerbread man are meant to be. He feels a lump rising in his throat and that damn prickling behind his eyelids again.

“Wouldya look at that,” he says. Fareeha is squinting at him and Jesse desperately wants to get away before he does anything that might disappoint her more.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just gonna get myself another drink. Thanks for the cookie, Fareeha,” he says, squeezing her shoulder as he walks away. Fareeha blinks, eyes narrowing.

Jesse finds himself a bottle of whiskey - nobody’s going to miss it, there’s plenty and most everyone’s already drunk - and makes a beeline for the hangar doors. He slips outside to find snow falling, heavy and thick, blanketing the surrounding mountains and muffling the cheery holiday revelries inside. He sits on the stoop, letting his legs sprawl out into the snow in front of him, and takes a generous swig directly from the bottle. There’s a sooty black mark on his pants. He tries to rub it out, but it only makes it worse. He rubs and rubs at it, spreading the black mark around, and he can only hope that his jeans are dark enough to hide the evidence. Giving up, Jesse leans his head back against the door. He makes himself take a few steadying breaths, but it’s hard around the lump in his throat. The lump in his pocket feels huge.

Jesse doesn’t think he’s a good person. He’s known that for a long time. Deadlock beat it into him, and there’s plenty of evidence on his record to support it. He’s spent years running away from his past. Gabe - _Commander Reyes_ \- gave him a chance to do some things, good things, to cover that all up, but then there’s the Blackwatch missions that nobody talks about, where Jesse’s particular skillset comes in handy and maybe those things aren’t all that good after all. They know he’s not good. They use it to their advantage. Jesse lets them do it. What else can he do? It’s a poor penance after so many years of wrong doings.

_They know. They know. They know._

The door opens, smacking the back of Jesse’s head and startling him out of his self-hating reverie.

“Oh - shit,” his commander’s voice floats down to him. Jesse rubs the back of his head and shifts out of the way.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He starts to get up.

“What are you doing out here, McCree? It’s colder than shit,” Reyes asks. He has a lighter in his hand and he’s trying to hide a pack of cigarettes with the other. Jesse shakes his head a little, avoiding making eye contact.

“Just wanted some air, sir.”

“Sure,” Reyes pauses. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Yeah. I mean - no, I don’t mind. I’ll leave you be.”

“I’m not gonna kick you out of your hiding spot,” Reyes says. He holds the cigarette out to Jesse, who hesitates. “It’s not gonna kill you. Well, not right away.”

After another moment of hesitation, Jesse takes a cigarette and rolls it between his fingers. He was supposed to have quit when he joined Blackwatch (it’s really hard to get through basic when you feel like you’re breathing through a straw), but every so often…

Reyes lights his own cigarette before offering the lighter to Jesse. He sets the cigarette between his lips and leans forward, letting Reyes light the end. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep drag and lets it out slowly. The nicotine slides over his brain like a warm blanket. It soothes the jitters that the alcohol couldn’t dull - at least for the time being.

They stand in comfortable silence for a few long minutes.

“So,” Reyes says finally. “What’re you hiding from?”

Jesse hunches his shoulders, the relief from the cigarette melting away nearly all at once. He takes another deep drag.

“Just needed some air, sir,” Jesse says again. He can practically hear Reyes frown even though he refuses to look up.

“Sure. With half a bottle of whiskey and a lumpy cookie,” Reyes says.

“Fareeha made it,” Jesse says sharply, going defensive.

“She made you one too?”

Jesse looks up, finally. Reyes holds his cigarette between his lips so he can fishes his comm out of his pocket to show Jesse a picture: he has to squint a little, but Jesse is pretty sure it’s a gingerbread shotgun he’s looking at. With festive snowflakes along the barrel.

“Don’t eat it,” Reyes warns, tucking his comm away. “You’ll chip a tooth.”

It doesn’t exactly make Jesse feel better, but he does manage to relax a hair. He nods a little. They both finish their cigarettes in silence, stubbing out the butts in the fresh snow gathering at their feet. Jesse hesitates. He doesn’t want to go back inside - the party’s getting louder; he’s pretty sure he can hear Reinhardt’s booming laughter over the sound of the music, even - but he also kind of wants to run away from Reyes. It’s bad enough to harbor an unrequited crush on his commanding officer; it’s even worse to feel like this and be stuck outside with him on top of it. Let him drown in self-loathing in peace, Jesse thinks.

Wordlessly, Reyes passes Jesse another cigarette. Jesse accepts it because another part of him - and again the self-loathing revs in his chest - just wants Reyes to stay close. Reyes lights Jesse’s cigarette for him again, but doesn’t light one for himself.

“Mind if I have a drink?” Reyes asks, gesturing to the bottle. Jesse shrugs.

“Help yourself.”

Reyes leans down and retrieves the bottle. Jesse watches him out of the corner of his eye; Reyes brings the bottle up to his lips and takes a healthy gulp. Jesse tries not to stare. He turns his gaze back to the snowy landscape, shoulders hunched. He hears the slosh of whiskey as Reyes takes another drink from the bottle.

“I hate these things,” Reyes offers eventually. Jesse looks sideways at him but doesn’t say anything. Reyes isn’t looking at him anyway; he’s looking straight out into the snow too. “I like the team just fine. I trust you all with my damn life but shit like this… Jack and Reinhardt say it’s good for morale. I just find it exhausting.”

Jesse makes a little non-committal noise. Reyes takes another swig.

“Am I way off?” he asks. Jesse exhales in a whoosh, letting the smoke drift off his tongue.

“It’s nothing, sir,” Jesse says.

“Cut the shit, McCree. You look like someone’s gone and broken your favorite toy.”

Jesse clenches his jaw and throws the stub of his cigarette down. What is he supposed to say, that he’s feeling sorry for himself? That he feels like nothing he does is ever good enough? That he doesn’t belong here? That Gabe - _Commander Reyes_ , he mentally corrects himself angrily - made a mistake in giving him a second chance?

_He knows. He knows. He knows._

“Look at me.”

Reyes used his commanding officer voice, which is the only reason Jesse turns to look at him, fists clenched at his sides. His throat is burning and that _damn prickling_ is back too. He manages to meet Reyes’ eyes even though it feels like something is squeezing his heart. The look of concern in Reyes’ expression just about makes something snap inside Jesse’s chest. It’s all he can do to not look away.

“What’s wrong with you?” Reyes asks. Jesse’s fingernails are digging into his palm and his head aches from how hard he’s clenching his jaw. He swallows hard.

_He knows. He knows. He knows._

“Nothing,” Jesse grinds out.

“Bullshit. You’ve been looking that way all night. I saw you talking to Fareeha - she told me you were acting funny.”

“I don’t -” Jesse makes a frustrated noise and looks away. Reyes reaches for his shoulder. Instinctively, Jesse lashes out. It’s an aborted punch; he saves it just in time, instead pushing Reyes’ arm away and taking a step back. He immediately fills with regret and shame. He turns on his heel and stomps out into the snow.

“Damn it! McCree, where do you think you’re going?”

Jesse hunches his shoulders and keeps walking. The thing about cowboy boots, though, is that they’re not built to handle snow. He slips on the fresh powder but manages to stay upright, stubbornly pushing forward. He doesn’t care where he’s going - he just has to get the hell away.

Reyes is right behind him, though, and he has had more experience in the terrain, as well as boots that are actually made for winter.

“You and I both know we’re not snow people, McCree,” Reyes growls. He grabs Jesse by the shoulder and yanks him back. “What the hell is going on?”

Jesse fights back the instinct to throw another punch - it would only serve to prove to Reyes what he already knows - and instead balls his fists at his sides. He stares resolutely at his boots. He’s starting to feel the ice seep into the leather.

Reyes doesn’t let go of his shoulder.

“McCree,” Reyes says again. His voice goes softer, lower. Concerned. Shit.

“I don’t want to talk about it, sir,” Jesse manages to say around the ever-expanding lump in his throat.

“Talk about _what_?”

“I know I’m not good enough,” he bursts out, the dam in his chest breaking suddenly. “I know that I can’t make it right and I’m only here ‘cause I can do the dirty work. But I ain’t good - I know that. I don’t need - I don’t need - I don’t _need_ -”

Jesse sucks in a sharp, wheezing breath. He’s pretty sure he’s shaking, and not just because of the cold. Reyes’ hand hasn’t left his shoulder the entire time.

“Jesse,” Reyes says, voice soft and deliberate. “You’re good enough. More than that, even.”

Jesse screws up his face. He’s _not_ going to cry in front of his god damn commanding officer, not on top of everything else. He shakes his head a little. Reyes shakes him by the shoulder - it’s gentle, but firm.

“No, you listen to me. You’ve done good work here. You’re one of the best. This is hard work, it’s complicated, but you’re on the right side of this. You’re good, Jesse. You’re good.”

That’s twice now Reyes has said his first name, and it shouldn’t make Jesse’s heart skip the way it does, but it _does_ , and the mix of emotions vying for attention only serves to underline his distress.

“Who cares what Edwards says, or anyone else? You’re miles ahead of them. You know that, don’t you?”

Jesse makes a neutral noise. Reyes frowns, rubs his other hand over his face.

“I’m glad you’re on my team, Jesse McCree. Don’t you forget that.”

Jesse looks away so that Reyes can’t see his face. It works, maybe, because they’re far away from the lights of the hangar and the snow is falling faster, thicker. He wants desperately to believe in the words Reyes is saying. He just can’t wrap his head around it.

Finally, Jesse takes a deep, shaky breath. Reyes nods. He squeezes Jesse’s shoulder.

“There you go. Let’s head back. You’re gonna lose some toes with those boots of yours otherwise.”

=-=-=

Jesse ends up sitting with Reyes in one of the lounges near the top of the HQ. He’s kicked his boots off and is starting to get the feeling back in his toes. They sit side by side, facing the window with a fresh bottle between them, watching the snow blanket the outside world. Neither of them say much, occasionally passing the bottle back and forth. The vice-like grip in Jesse’s chest has eased up somewhat, and the whiskey has settled nice and warm in the bottom of his stomach. He sinks down a little further in his seat, tilting towards Reyes. He can still smell the cigarette smoke on him, now dulled with whiskey, with an undercurrent of fresh snow. Jesse closes his eyes. Just for a moment.

It’s not better, not really. He still doubts that there would be any other reason for Reyes to draft him to Blackwatch if not for his ability to do the dirty work. Someone’s gotta do it, and if that someone happens to be him, well… He’s already gotten his hands dirty. Maybe there isn’t any coming back from that. Reyes hasn’t run him off yet.

He called him _Jesse_.

It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Reyes is his commanding officer. It’s just a tactic to relate on a more personal level, to bring Jesse out of his own head, and yet…

Jesse shifts, blinks open bleary eyes. It’s darker outside, even though the snow is reflecting the light of the hangar below. The party must still be going on; he can hear the music faintly. He blinks again as he tries to orient himself. He’s somehow horizontal, his cheek pillowed against -

_Commander Reyes’ thigh._

Jesse doesn’t dare move. There’s something moving in his hair. It feels kind of nice. He realizes, after a moment, that it is Reyes’ hand. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t want to move. The hand in his hair stills when Jesse goes stiff. They both seem to hold their breath for what feels like an eon.

Finally, Jesse rolls over but doesn’t sit up, looking up at Reyes, who meets his gaze. Reyes snatches his hand away like he’s been burned.

“Uh,” Reyes says. “You fell asleep.”

“Yeah, I gathered,” Jesse says. He spots something above Reyes’ head and blinks until it comes into focus. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Something that looks like panic flits across Reyes’ face before it resettles on “aggressively neutral.”

“What?” Jesse points up. Reyes follows the gesture to see, hanging above them, a real, honest-to-god sprig of mistletoe. Jesse scrambles upright.

“Hah. Well. I should probably…” he trails off. He needs to leave, _right now immediately_ , before he does something extremely, extremely stupid. Reyes is still looking at the mistletoe. Jesse looks at him, the light reflecting off the snow casting Reyes in a soft glow. His chest aches.

He’s already a rotten person, right? What’s one more strike against his character?

He can always blame the whiskey later.

Jesse leans forward and slips his hand along Reyes’ jaw, gently turning his face towards his own. He closes the distance between them and plants a warm, sweet kiss on Reyes’ lips. It might be the only one he ever gets so he savors it, pours his heart into it. He lets his eyes slide closed and breathes in the stale cigarettes and whiskey and something else that just tastes of _Gabe_.

They can kick him out of Blackwatch. It’d be okay now.

Jesse feels a hand on his own and starts to pull away, but Reyes tightens his grip on his hand. Another hand comes up to touch Jesse’s shoulder, almost like he had outside in the snow earlier, but this time he’s pulling him in. Jesse doesn’t quite process what’s happening until Reyes’ mouth is parting against his own.

_Oh._

Jesse surges up and kisses him hard. He wraps his arms around Reyes and holds on. He's pretty sure it's coming off as desperate, but it's something he's wanted for so long, he can't help clinging to him like he's a drowning man. He doesn't care.

_He knows. He knows. He knows._

Reyes is the one who breaks off the kiss in the end. He leans his forehead against Jesse’s, breath coming in short pants.

“Jesse,” he says, practically a growl, a rumble in his chest. Jesse hasn't let go of him; he has the wild thought that letting go will bring reality crashing down on his head. He swallows thickly, wets his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“S-sir?”

“Gabriel. Gabe.”

“What?”

“It's Gabe.”

And then he leans in and kisses Jesse again and Jesse thinks maybe he belongs here after all.

**Author's Note:**

> “Fareeha!” Angela hisses, nudging the younger woman sharply in the ribs. Fareeha wakes with a start, lifting her head from Angela’s shoulder. Angela points to the tablet that’s streaming the feed directly from the lounge. 
> 
> “What?” Fareeha squints at the screen, trying to make out what she's looking at. She realizes it's her Uncle Gabe covering Jesse’s body with his own, the two of them kissing, sprawled on the lounge sofa. She pumps a fist into the air. “It worked!”
> 
> Angela beams at Fareeha. “It just takes a little nudge, sometimes.”
> 
> Fareeha grins at her. “Is there any more mistletoe left?”
> 
> “We don't need mistletoe.”
> 
> Fareeha’s laugh rings out as Angela tackles her, planting kisses wherever she can reach.


End file.
